"As a little child" — I say the words,
And they seem to give me rest;
As a little child would I become,
And lie on the Mother's breast, —
For God is the Infinite Mother
Who hath borne and carried us all,
Who broods above
With a tender love
Aware of our faintest call.
But I asleep to that brooding love,
Have been content in the dream;
Or, fretted myself by day, by night.
In gaining the things that seem;
I pray that Truth may quicken
The love that is undefiled.
Till freed from art
And quiet in heart
I become "as a little child."
